


we are bound by symmetry

by liketheroad



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Harry Hart Lives, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:24:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketheroad/pseuds/liketheroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are bound by symmetry

**Author's Note:**

> The alternate summary to this fic is "creepy soulmates." Beta'd (thanks Hannah ♥) but not Brit-picked.

He remembers Harry. Always has. Never had a name or anything more to go on than a single, shining memory, but it was enough, and Eggsy’s kept it. 

Tall, handsome man come in his Sunday finest to tell Eggsy and his mum that his dad was dead. That should be the part he can’t forget, the feeling Eggsy can’t shake, but it’s what came right after that’s stayed with him all this time. 

A medal given to him like a promise, not just for a favour down the road but something _more_ , placed in his care when Eggsy was still young enough to believe in magic. Hard not to when Harry’s hand settled on his shoulder, a brief squeeze that changed the world in front of Eggsy’s eyes - colours suddenly brighter, more vibrant and in focus, the very ground under his feet seeming more solid, real.

Harry let go but the feeling never went away, and all these seventeen years later, it’s still right there, a steady rhythm in his heart, a grounding weight on his shoulder.

Bit hard to forget all that, really.

\---

He’s an early bloomer, Eggsy is. Most people don’t present their differentiation until their teens, puberty ushering in that change as well, but Eggsy was barely seven when something settled inside him, irrevocable and true. He knew from then on that a submissive was just who he was meant to be, deep down where he couldn’t run from it or lie to himself. 

It’s not so bad, really, part of him like the shape of his nose and the colour of his eyes, but it worried him mum that it happened so early, especially so since it all came about in the wake of his dad’s death. He got dragged along to a handful of specialists in those first couple of months, his mum half frantic with grief and afraid he was broken somehow, just because he turned out different than she was expecting. Luckily for Eggsy, she gave up soon enough when they all told her the same thing: It’s rare, but not unheard of to present to that early, especially when a trauma has occurred. 

Easy enough to understand, to leave it at that.

Eggsy went on letting the doctors say so and his mum believe it, because by then he was both young and old enough to know that no one would listen to him when he said it was because of a man whose name he didn’t yet know, who he’d met only once but to whom he knew he’d always belong.

\---

He caught Harry once, watching over him.

He was eleven years old and already getting the shit kicked out of him on the regular by Dean and whoever else decided they didn’t like _uppity sub bitches_ crossing their paths.

By that age he was too strong and too pretty all at once, and not many dominants he’d encountered had been fond of the combo. He had his mum and his mates, but that was all, and in this world, it weren’t much, even though he tried to make it enough.

He had the memory of Harry, the feel of him, how one touch changed Eggsy forever, but that particular day, left prone on the asphalt, he got more. 

Right when he was about to get back up, mouth full of blood and insults at the ready, a sharp piercing sound scattered the taunting circle around him, almost like a siren but not quite. Then Eggsy was alone, pulling himself off the ground when he saw it, just a glimpse, but enough to be sure.

A sharp figure retreating in the distance, square shoulders clothed in dark, intimidatingly sleek and well-fitted fabric, a rescuer not meant to be thanked or seen.

He didn’t call out or try to go after Harry, the idea of doing so never even occurring to Eggsy. Harry was a promise he wasn’t quite yet ready to see fulfilled, and Eggsy was a little miffed at him just then anyways, always preferring to fight his own battles.

He let go of the anger soon enough, and treasured the new memory of him instead. Kept Harry close in his heart, in the feeling of a solid, guiding hand on his shoulder.

\---

When he sees Harry again on the steps of the police station, for a moment it’s almost as though no time has passed. Harry looks exactly the same, coming back to life before Eggsy’s eyes, giving shape and substance to the haziness of his memory, and for their entire conversation Eggsy is breathless with it.

He covers it as best he can with rudeness and bluster, and for his troubles he gets a name. 

Harry. 

Harry Harry Harry Harry _Harry_. His heart beats in time to the chant in his head, every part of him dizzy with the knowledge, the name of his top, his dom. God. He hopes so, anyway. 

Either that, or he’s gone totally mental, and is only now being forced to realize it.

\---

The scene in the Black Prince lends weight to the ‘Eggsy has gone barmy’ side of things, but then Harry sits back down and apologizes, and Eggsy’s body sings, he’s so proud and pleased with the choice his heart made, latching onto Harry all those years ago.

Harry almost hits him with an amnesia dart, except Eggsy isn’t afraid, never quite believes Harry would. When Harry takes Eggsy at his word that he won’t tell no one, it only serves as confirmation of their bond, to Eggsy’s mind. Harry trusts him, just as a deep, instinctual part of Eggsy has always trusted him, picking up right where they left off, seventeen years later.

He lets Harry go and takes the beating from Dean as long as he has to, but when Harry’s voice floats into the air all around them, serenely calling Dean off and rescuing Eggsy, he’s not even surprised.

\---

Harry takes him into a fitting room and stands Eggsy in front of a full-length mirror, asking him what he sees.

Eggsy ignores the question, asking one of his own instead. “D’you believe in soulmates?”

Harry inhales sharply, but only for a second, and then his composure has returned like a suit of armour and his hand is heavy on Eggsy’s shoulder as he says, calm as anything, “Yes.”

Eggsy folds his own hands behind his back, tilts his neck a little to make more room for Harry’s hand to settle there, and smiles at their reflections.

\---

It’s better than just being Harry’s submissive, more. The two of them finding each other again, that’s not white knight enough for Harry, inadequate compared to what he seems to think Eggsy deserves.

He’s not content just to offer Eggsy a chance at true love, a home of his own, somewhere to feel safe and protected, somewhere his mum and Daisy are welcome as well. No. Harry’s gotta give Eggsy more than that - has to offer him a calling, a purpose far beyond what satisfaction he knows he could have found just living at Harry’s side, kneeling at his feet and walking a diminutive half-step behind him on the pavement.

Eggsy would have been lying, maybe, if he said he’d really be able to settle down like that, to let being Harry’s sub define all that he is, but he wouldn’t have been greedy enough to ask for more, either. 

Harry doesn’t give him the option to stay silent, of course, offers him a chance at everything right from the off, and Eggsy stands taller under Harry’s hand, determined to deserve it.

\---

Training is brutal and missing Harry is worse. 

He’s asleep for so long (Eggsy can’t think of it as Harry being in a coma, it feels too final, too sterile and severe), and even when he’s not, Eggsy barely has any time with him. A fleeting 24-hours before the final test, and all but a few precious moments of that are spent on Kingsman business, Harry ruthlessly directing their conversation and Eggsy’s waning focus back ‘round to lessons on gentlemanly behavior when all Eggsy wants to do is crouch at his side and have Harry stroke his hair.

He wants more but he’ll take anything Harry will give him, gratefully soaking up his knowledge and wisdom, trusting that every word Harry says is important, knowing every lesson is a chance to best his former self and earn his place at Harry’s side in the future.

\---

He can’t shoot JB. No, he fucking _won’t_. 

He knows it’ll disappoint Harry, and his entire being rails against doing so, but he won’t betray the trust JB has in him, won’t become a person who could. Not even for Harry.

Eggsy gathers JB up as soon as he’s out of Arthur’s sneering presence, holds him close and mutters softly-worded reassurance, as much for his own ears as JB’s. 

When he sees Arthur’s car parked out front, it seems like fate, like it was waiting there just for him to nick it, and Eggsy does, bitterly wondering if Harry would be impressed or scandalized by how quickly he manages it. 

Pissed though he clearly is when Harry drags him back, Eggsy can’t help but believe a part of Harry is proud, after all.

It might not show in his words, his face, but he still touches Eggsy, harshly promises to sort things out when he gets back, and that’s better than accepting Eggsy’s desperate and grating apology any day. 

\---

Harry gets shot and even though he watches it happen, Eggsy doesn’t believe it. He feels grief and rage and pain more brittle and profound than he’s ever imagined, but he doesn’t believe Harry is dead. 

He saves the world and becomes a Kingsman, life slowly moving on, but Eggsy’s heart stays exactly where it’s always been. Harry is still with him, an anchoring presence and soothing reassurance that he’s not alone, and even through the loss gaping at the surface, Eggsy can’t shake that bone-deep faith that Harry is alive.

Merlin swears it’s not possible, tries to comfort in his own stunted, Scottish way, but all Eggsy cares about is seeing the body, demanding to know where it is. The chaos following V-day has settled somewhat by then, and if there was a body, if Harry was really dead, they would have found him by now.

Merlin shrugs, reluctant and stiff like he’s trying to ward against giving Eggsy false hope, and admits that Harry’s corpse wasn’t recovered.

He starts to say, “That doesn’t mean--” but Eggsy doesn’t let him get any further, turning on the heels of his polished Oxfords and stalking out of the shop, clinging tightly to his hope, false or not.

\---

Three months later, Harry turns up at the shop with a wicked scar and no idea who Eggsy is. 

He’s lost years, not just the months of Eggsy’s training, but nearly a decade, and it’s lucky Merlin is close at hand, else Eggsy is afraid he and Harry might have come to blows.

Merlin’s presence settles Harry a little, leastways enough to prevent fistacuffs. He’s still clearly skittish and highly suspicious, but he lets Eggsy get close to him, enough to look up at Harry through his lashes (making Merlin scoff quietly in the background), hopeful and innocent.

Even if Harry’s lost an entire decade, he’s known Eggsy for longer than that. There’s still hope, even if he’s lost that part of their history as well. 

But Eggsy starts there, the part of him that’s always belonged to Harry making him a closet optimist, after all, and says, “I’m Eggsy, ain’t I? Bit different now, I grant ya, but it’s still me. Promised me something a long time ago, yeah? I’m holding you to it whether you remember or not.”

Eggsy reaches under the collar of his perfectly tailored shirt and takes out the medallion Harry gave him a lifetime ago, holding it out to him a little while keeping the chain it hangs on securely around his neck.

Harry stares at him for a beat before looking down at the gold encircled K, and then looks up at Eggsy again, recognition dawning like a new age across his face.

“Eggsy,” he says, faint but not the slightest bit uncertain. Harry’s hand is reaching out before Eggsy can even think to reply, taking a stronger and more possessive hold on Eggsy’s shoulder than he ever has before as he finishes, “My dear boy.”

Eggsy beams, smug and triumphant like he’s never been, not even after saving the bloody world, and decides it doesn’t matter if that’s all Harry can remember of him, the small boy he once was, lost and alone and already waiting for Harry. 

He’s not that boy anymore, not helpless or broken down by grief, but he’s still Harry’s, and he remembers that well enough for the both of them.


End file.
